Christmas Dreams
by JayBee-Bug
Summary: Just a brief ficlet I wrote last year on Christmas eve. It's a B/G fluff story.


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Title: Christmas Dreams

Author: JayBee

Rating: G

Spoilers/Setting: Takes place a few months after "Tabula Rasa".

Summary: Just a brief ficlet I wrote last year on Christmas eve. Forgot I had it, just now dug it up and posted it. It's B/G fluff story. If you don't like the idea of Buffy/Giles, read further at your own risk.

Feedback: jaybee_bug@yahoo.com

Disclaimer: Not mine.

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The girl stirred in her sleep. She existed in a private bubble of warmth and delicious thought, created by her nighttime's worth of leisurely dreaming. So it seems reasonable that she was in no hurry to leave this tiny, delightful little world of her creation. Although it didn't feel entirely of her own creation, as if there was some other source of power she was connected to, pulsating and vibrating with this energy. It engulfed her like a warm, heavy blanket, and hung over her mind, veiling her from reality, and keeping her consciousness floating in space. Much like a balloon being held down under water, she bobbed in this mental reality between dreams and wakefulness. 

Things always took on such surreality in this mental state. It wasn't like the pure dream state were things were more often than not out of your control-- you were aware and capable of some logical thought, and yet your mind was free of it's everyday burdens. Thought flowed more naturally in this state. And it strung freely through the Slayer's mind now like colorful ribbon. 

Since she had the control in this state of mind in which direction she went in and how she went about it, she drifted a while, surveying the scenery. She was aware of the fact that it was Christmas morning-- not that she had any particular memories at the moment of this, but she just knew somewhere inside of her, and didn't question it for a moment. The air buzzed with that Christmas magic, anyway. She was aware of the excitement and anticipation of that special morning, drawn to it, but as a pleasure delayer, decided she didn't need it quite yet. 

So she decided to dig her way back into her subconscious, back into the dreamworld. Burying herself in the delightful and recent memories of a particular dream she had that night, her favorite one. It had been about Giles. In her dream, he had returned on Christmas Eve. Dawn and Willow had already gone to bed-- the day's preparations complete-- and Buffy had been on her own way to bed when she paused at the lit Christmas tree to watch it and contemplate in silence a moment. To be moved by it's symbol, to feel the pang and need of her heart's desire for her _true _Christmas wish. The one that would never happen. 

Then her sensitive hearing picked up the sound of a key being rattled in her back door and grating open, and she had crept, armed with the only thing sitting around at the moment, a fancy wooden letter opener, stalking to the kitchen. She reached the door, slightly ajar, staring and listening intently, looking out the window, and suddenly turned about, poising her weapon, to see that it was _him_. Just him . . . she simply quivered at the overwhelm of emotion. It crushed her. It was everything at once. 

He had eyed the letter opener with humor and made some wry commentary about her success rate at slaying with cheap gifts. She realized with sudden amusement and irony that the letter opener had been given to her by Giles, actually, a few years back when the Magic Shop had first opened. 

The next memory of the dream was the most beautiful. She sighed. He was just . . . there. They had gone quietly to the couch to hold a silent vigil on the Christmas tree, and held a brief, muted conversation in the dark. Their voices soft and calm and mellow, but strained with emotion. They didn't use many words. They spoke rather superficial words, in fact, the conversation told mostly in tone and gesture and in emotion and subtext, a conversation far more effective and real than they have ever had before. Buffy had asked how England was and he spoke briefly of his re-acquaintance there and admitted how it seemed less like home there than it did here, even though it _was_ home. Buffy took her turn to speak of how life had been like for her in his absence . . . and eventually she got around to admitting she understood now why he had left. She held everyone at a distance, everyone she ever loved. It was just easier that way. Not as scary. And she did it until everyone had left her behind, until each one in turn couldn't take any more. 

And she knew she had taken him for granted. God, yes. She saw that. 

He saw how clearly she spoke these things and felt them, and felt how incredibly mature it was. Yes, he had missed her. 

And a simple revelation was made. She came to this conclusion, gazing at the colored dots of light, overswept by emotions from sitting next to a man she had missed bitterly for months, one who was such a powerful and *permanent* part of her life. 

"It doesn't matter. I let the others go. I didn't chase after. But not this time. Not this one. This one, I have to get right. Because it's different. It's you. It's the one thing that . . . that can't be . . . I won't let go of you. "

The rest of the night had been spent in silence, simply sitting together and reveling in each other's simple presence, and nothing more. 

But now as these words echoed in Buffy's mind she felt them slipping from her grasp-- the memories were unwillingly sliding away. The dream glided away quickly like a retreating tide. Her eyes blinked and slowly opened back to the universe before her. 

She was gazing into a pair of eyes, gentle and green. They simply swallowed up her world. She never asked, never stopped to wonder or question or protest, she just saw, and understood, and accepted . . .. 

"Merry Christmas, " were the first words she heard, drawled in a half-awake and casual tone, a small smile tipped down at her. She sunk into the warmth of the couch and tangled quilt that still lay wrapped around the two, and rested her head back on his chest. 

"Merry Christmas, Giles. "


End file.
